Black Liner Run
by UndineCalledSushi
Summary: Songfic. Reference to drug use and self harm. Graverobber x Shilo


((A/N: I've never done a songfic before, so I thought I'd try it. The song is 'Black Liner Run' by She Wants Revenge. It's a good song, and honestly, I really feel like it describes Graverobber's and Shilo's story. Either way, enjoy!))

_Run run run_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run run run run_

Shilo tries to see the point in applying make up. Hell, most days she doesn't even bother getting dressed. The only person that will see her is her father, and dressing up for him is just… creepy. She sighs and takes out the eyeliner. What the hell, it's not like she has anything better to do.

_I read your every entry_

_I read your secrets and didn't sleep_

_They say you'll never let me see your face_

_Wish me luck then laugh at the sad case_

_My friend is on the phone_

_Whine and crash_

_You can stay at my place_

_And dream sleep maybe_

_And anime_

He'd been walking by the old Victorian type house on the way somewhere, he doesn't actually remember where, when he first saw her. She was standing on a balcony in the _skimpiest _dress that still managed to be classy. He's never actually seen a girl like her before. She looks like an angel against the dark, smoggy sky. He thinks that maybe that was the day that he felt somewhat okay with himself.

He finds her name on the net, 'Shilo Wallace'. He feels somewhat like a stalker at this point, but he's already addicted to this girl who is so innocent to the world. When he makes the mistake of telling one of his fellow dealers, the guy laughs at him and tells him to give it a break. He laughs again at Graverobber's glare, then says, ' If you don't wanna sleep in that Dumpster tonight, my couch is available."

They fall asleep to some old world cartoons with veins humming with glowing blue light.

He dreams of his angel.

_With perfect lacerations_

_He don't wanna see_

_It's becoming a fixation_

_She never leaves her home_

_But she's real sweet_

_Got her own style_

_Leaves the windows real wide_

_Crosses her fingers after so many years_

_Mascara runs through the tracks of her tears_

She is on the balcony again, trying not to scream at the world. Her dad still won't let her leave, not even to see her mother's grave. The scalpel is cold in her hand and she sets it down on the ledge to hike up the skirt she is wearing. When she reaches for the scalpel, she notices him. A man with a deathly pale face and a riot of dreadlocks looking up at her. His eyes are black holes in his face, his skin paler than hers. The riot of dreadlocks make her jealous, even with the crazy coloring some of them have. He doesn't leave when she notices him. He just continues to look up at her. It makes her blood burn in something akin to anger. She stares back at him defiantly as she drags the scalpel blade across her thigh, smiles as she feels the blood drip off her leg, as she feels that rush of endorphins she has become addicted to. She drops the scalpel off the balcony and goes back inside, a line of deep red blood tracing her leg. When she goes to bed that night, she leaves her window open, wondering if the fairy tales her dad used to read her could be true. Wondering if she's Rapunzel or Sleeping Beauty. Maybe Snow White.

By 3 am she knows that she isn't a fairy tale princess; that the man was most likely just a pervert staring at a young girl in a short dress. She doesn't know why this makes her cry.

_Run run run (but still its nice to wish)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run (hope he understands)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run (this could never be)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run run run run (still he's making plans)_

The scalpel falls like a feather from his angel's wing, it lies on the ground like a sliver of moonlight. When he picks it up he sees her blood on the edge of the blade, a streak of black on his moonlight. He thinks back to her eyes on his as she scars herself. When he logs onto the net later he sends her an email, with the subject of 'I found your scalpel'.

_I caught a death when I signed on_

_I saw your pictures and couldn't eat_

_I swear that you were sent here just to tease_

_And you smile back in between asterisks_

_My heart is on my sleeve when I write you_

Shilo starts to look forward to waking up in the morning, because there is always a message waiting from _him_. The name he uses is Rob, but what she remembers of him doesn't look like a Rob. Sometimes he writes like a scholar, with beautifully sculpted prose; other times he writes like an undereducated urchin, with misspellings and little punctuation. He confuses her, but he always seems genuine. Then she asks for the scalpel back, he offers to return it if she answers a question.

"Why do you use it?"

It takes her less than a minute to respond.

"I can't stop."

_These ends they lead to dead_

_Surely they excite you_

_Or did you know_

_Is it your typing blindly_

_Choose a public place_

_Darling won't you let me find thee_

"I can't leave the house." From Shilo at 10:46 pm

"I'll work around it." From Rob at 10:47 pm

"How?" From Shilo at 10:48 pm

"You'll see." From Rob at 10:49 pm

The first letter hits her window almost fifteen minutes later. It's weighted with a stone she has never seen before.

_He leaves cats eyes after poems_

_So she knows who is speaking_

_When she's reading it alone_

_She waited eagerly but will she embrace_

_In bloodied hands, her new lovers face_

She finds out that the stones that are in the envelopes are called cat's eyes. She loves them, love the way they look and shift as they move. She loves his letters more though. She's on the balcony again, the cold scalpel in her hand again. She hears the lock click as her father locks the door behind himself. She wonders if there will be another letter tonight and tries not to cry. Her father still won't let her leave. She draws the scalpel over old scars and remembers each one. The first time she had ever fought with her father, the first time she got her period, when she realized that she would never grow hair, when she realized she would never get better, when she realized that she would die in this room.

She doesn't even notice that she's crying, and when she does she drags the blade up her leg in an attempt to stop it. Blood slides off her leg and she starts crying. She'd been thinking that maybe… maybe one day she could meet Rob in person, one day she could walk the streets, one day she could be _normal_. Now she knows that she will never leave. She wishes she had Rapunzel's hair so she could escape. The scalpel moves up her leg again, more blood runs off her leg and more tears run down her face.

_Run run run (but still its nice to wish)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run (hope he understands)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run (this could never be)_

_Would you wear that black liner baby_

_Run run run run run run (still he's making plans)_

When he sees her crying, with blood running down her leg again, he shoves the letter in his pocket and climbs up to the balcony. She doesn't realize he is there until he brushes the tears from her face. She jumps slightly, and her lips from 'Rob'. She is hugging him close and shaking, her blood soaking through his pant leg. "It'll be ok, I'll make it ok." He picks her up, she weighs next to nothing, "Let's get you cleaned up first, okay? Then we can talk." She buries her face in his coat. "You can't be here," she whispers, her voice still shaky from crying. "Where's your bathroom?" He asks, ignoring her. She points at a closed door on the far side of her room.

She sits on the toilet as he wets a handkerchief on his way through her bedroom and gently wipes away the blood. "Why do you do this?" He asks again. "It feels better than the boredom." He looks up at her, a broken doll with porcelain skin and ebony hair. Her eyes are empty and he knows she is lying to him. She has told him of her life confined to her bedroom, her bed surrounded by plastic, all the treatments, dreaming of a life outside. "I know something better," he tells her, and pulls out a glowing blue vial. "It's like a nightlight," she hums softly, her eyes are hungry as she looks at it.

She knows what Zydrate is; she has seen all the commercials for Amber's rehab clinics. He has told her about harvesting and selling Zydrate. She wants to try it, because it won't leave scars that her father may see. Rob smears antibiotic cream over the new cuts with more care than the job needs. As he tapes a square of gauze over the cuts she asks, "What's your name? You don't look like a Rob." She feels lightheaded as he looks at her. "Everyone just calls me Graverobber." She likes his voice. It's rougher than she had imagined, but it's beautiful to her. She stands up and walks into her bedroom, wedging a chair under the door. Graverobber joins her as she rips down the plastic surrounding her bed.

The bed feels like heaven compared to the couch and the Dumpster. The comforter beneath him is soft and the bed itself feels like a cloud. He pulls out his Zydrate gun, loads it, sets it to a minimal dose, and presses it to her thigh. "You sure, kid?" She nods and he pulls the trigger. Shilo gasps and lies back with a smile on her face. He ups the dosage and injects himself. He lies on his side and stares at the grinning angel beside him as indigo burns in his blood. She leans forward and kisses him on his lips. "Thank you," she whispers. He wants more, but knows he can't have it. Instead he smiles and pulls her close. He kisses her forehead and tells her that everything will be ok. She smiles and curls against him.

He falls asleep with an angel in his arms.


End file.
